


Compelled

by Wicker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel & Vessel Interactions, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicker/pseuds/Wicker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quickly-written PWP fic of Sam having some shower time after acquiring his unknown passenger. </p>
<p>There's some canon and sneaky, sneaky headcannon. I may eventually expand on this but I want to have these as standalone snippets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compelled

Sam had taken to showering after his morning run, which seemed to surprise his brother for a few reasons. Maybe Dean just hadn't expected him to recover so quickly, to be back to his 5:30 in-the-morning jog.

When he'd been at his weakest, Dean had helped him into the general showers on the main floor, which had stalls with a wide bench that allowed him to sit while Dean bathed him.

He didn't need to sit while showering anymore, but he liked having the option, especially since he was awake before Dean and could expect a little privacy despite the openness of the green-tiled room. He didn't yet feel like he could ever call the place his own, but that was perhaps because he was hard-pressed to think of a home that wasn't someone else's to begin with. 

Gadreel had only been inside of Sam for a little more than a week, but he'd learned much from having to share time with the mortal owner of the vessel. He'd hidden his grace deep, only a sliver of his awareness at the surface. So much of the mortal plane was profoundly different than he'd left it, so it was more educational to ride in this vessel as a passive observer. He was busy, too; Sam was worn thin, his structure corrupted and shadowed, filled with marks (self-inflicted and otherwise) that had to be patched, erased, and forgiven.  They were two injured beings forced by circumstances into something stronger than either of them, and while Sam arguably saw the lion's share of the benefit, the angel inside him was absorbing everything that Sam knew, everything that he saw, and everything that Sam didn't want to remember, too. Yes, his residency was founded on the outright deception of being Ezekiel, but in truth he craved this time on earth, and wanted to experience a clean break with the last millennia.

It helped that Sam had begun as a paragon of what mankind was. He was kind, and powerful, and just. He'd heard that Dean was the righteous one, and Sam tainted.  Not that Gadreel listened much to the words and whispers of other angels, in any case. He felt Sam's hands passing under the spray of the water, cataloged the feelings of warmth and wet as he ducked his head under the flow, and felt the pads of Sam's fingers trace his chest and arms, and lost himself for a bit. 

Sam's thoughts were years in the past, and entirely sexual. Gadreel wouldn't have been pulled in if they weren't so bound together, he might have looked- but he certainly wouldn't have dwelt on it.

Sam's long fingers curved over his hipbone, traveled up to soap his stomach and chest, and then back down to curl around his stirring erection and stroke it. There was something about the immediacy of the sensation, no longer a memory or a faint, slightly shameful need- that blossomed in Sam and encompassed Gadreel as well.

He was quickly drowning in the seduction that Sam was curiously set on inflicting on his own body, his vessel thrumming with arousal. Gadreel struggled to remain passive, to not allow his presence to be known, so he delved down, trying to shrink away from the surface, where Sam's fingers were cupping and pinching and at the extreme, even bruising his own flesh, and the angel ran headlong into the fantasies Sam was conjuring to feed his appetites.

He withdrew into himself then, at the core of his grace, and found himself swimming in Sam's imagination. It would explain a lot of human behavior, he realized, if arousal itself was enough to drown out all rational thinking. If Sam was in control of his vessel, then to an extent, he controlled the angel inside him as well. 

Sam had closed his eyes and was squeezing his shaft as he pumped through his fist, but his other hand was tugging tortuously on his left nipple, while he jumbled thoughts of Jess, Ruby, and Amelia through his brain. Gadreel felt what Sam had felt with them, but then it all spilled over into supposition, fantasy, and shame. 

He crept into Sam's skin gradually- feeling, controlling, and grasping the body as Sam did. He decided, feeling himself  blush and heave for air, that this was a crucial part of understanding humanity, of observing what humans had become. And Gadreel couldn't deny just how good it felt to slip Sam's cock through a tightly clenched fist, either.  

Sam's thoughts were a jumble of images and sensations, and Gadreel was surprised to find men among the ranks of Sam's carnal history. Men he held as brothers, both.

Castiel and Dean were both entangled with Sam in a giant, modern hotel bed and Dean was showing his angel, Castiel, how to deal with what inhabiting a human vessel for so long entailed. When he saw the head of Sam's cock disappear into the angel's mouth- just because Castiel wanted to show Sam he loved him, he groaned and whimpered as he felt the tension inside him build, the urge to move his hips forcing him to rock into his hand. Giving in could be so good. 

Gadreel wondered if his grace was somehow guiding Sam to this memory, to show his passenger what it could look like to see an angel taken apart in the most delicious of ways. He was aware that he was making noises, some of them even words in Enochian, but then he let out a low sob as he came, shooting over the knuckles of his clenched fist and dribbling down between his legs. The soft throbbing tension in his body relaxed bit by bit, replaced by what Sam would have called a desperate need for coffee. 

He let Sam take control again, hoping that the brief black-out time would be explained by his high heart rate and gasping lungs. 

Sam sat pondering alone for a few seconds, remembering just enough to know that the memory of what Dean had called "Deflowering Ms. Daisy" had brought him to an orgasm that had him fainting against the shower wall.  He hadn't fantasized about that in years, not since the Leviathan. He scrubbed slowly and sluggishly, wishing for all the world that Castiel was back with them again, and safe. 

 

Dean had paused in the hallway outside of the shower, sipping his coffee in his bathrobe. He knew Sammy wouldn't like being spied on, but he could hear the echo of his moans, and it was the perfect thing to add to his enormous "spank bank" before going back to his room for a little alone time. His smirk faded, though, when he heard Sam moan his own name. Even **he** didn't think his brother was that egotistical. _Ezekiel,_ then. Clearly, Dean was going to have to do a little more research later, after he'd had a little morning hand-to-gland combat. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Deflowering Ms. Daisy" may be the most fucking clever thing I've ever thought of for how Dean would go about getting Cas in the sack.


End file.
